Broken Bottles
by Let's Cry Over Sad Songs
Summary: "She just batted her eyelashes in a such innocent-yet-still-provacative-way, and asked questions that took Dirk hours to actually give the time to process." DirkRoxy. PostGame. Collab with 1m4g1n3 dr4gons.


Roxy was young

younger than he was- dirk knew she was more naive to this damned game than the most of them.

her always present drunk presence peeved dirk to such an extent, he sometimes wondered if he was forgetting her.

yeah, he could brush it off as a drunken stupor or another one of her long rants, and go off on his own tangent, successfully switching the subject.

but today he chose not to.

_'hey, Dirky?'_

_'yes?'_

he never ready for her random questions. Drunk or sober, Roxy's curiosity lingered in the strangest subjects. He had a backup answers, things that would satisfy her for the time being, things that were eventually smothered for all with the familiar filter of alcohol. She wasn't shy with her questions,

it was actually quite the opposite. Her bluntness was what threw the blonde male off, which made him love it. She just batted her eyelashes in a such innocent-yet-still-provacative-way, and asked questions that took Dirk hours to actually give the time to process.

_'will I go to hell, dirk?'_

_'Rox, don't be ridiculous.' _

The answer dirk gave was automatic- hell? of all places. She seriously thought _she _was going to hell? The way her voice curled around the words- the slurred speech was almost deteriorating. That told Dirk that she was more than a little bit curious, she was serious. and she was going to hang onto Dirk's answers forever, and let her close-minded naivety never allow Dirk to change the words once they slipped out his lips.

_' Roxy.' _he sighed his voice calculating, '_You haven't done anything worthy of being tossed into Satan's playground.' _

her- **his** glasses slid down her nose a little, which caused him to gulp nervously.

_'nu-uh. i'm a horrible person- i binge on booze all day, and swear like a fucking sailor, and i...' _She was going to be the end of the elder Strider.

She was trying to convince herself, and Dirk too, that she was worthy of hell.

Jesus christ

_' I drink.'_ he had pointed out to her sipping a drink of the horrible concoction that she had 'supposedly' made just for him. She shook her head, giggling, causing her blonde hair toss around in the braided mess dirk had assisted with.

_stop it roxy,_ the boy internally warned, _i seriously am not ready for this conversation_

_'but not as much as me!' _

Roxanne Lalonde had such a way with words.

_'Roxy, you've heard me swear more times then that fucking glass rim has touched your lips.'_

She laughed a little bit harder, and clumsily tried to fix her glasses. Dirk snatched the rest of her bottle, and threw it.

It soared out the window, and landing with a beautiful crashing sound with scattered shards of glass spraying the floor.

As Dirk previously stated before, he was never ready for her ridiculously creative questions and her elusive way of beating around the fucking bush.

"Rox," The word, was present, endearing, yet still bitter. "what the hell are you doing to me?"

her laugh cut through deeper this time, for she smiles a smile that deems mocking, and dirk wonders if she really is drunk. she stands tall removing her shirt so you can see her lacy purple bra through her white tank.

"you know dirk," she smiles, "the question is: what in the name of _bloody hell_ are you doing to me," her horrid britsh accent mocks him, reminding him of jake.

she then walks-no stumbling here- and reaches to grab a large shard of the broken bottle. dirk responds immediately quick stepping in front of her, grasping her hand that somehow has the fucking shard already.

she squeezes and she bleeds, to his horror her blood drips like wet nail polish onto the carpeted floor. and she's mumbling some shit about being sorry when dirk is too invested in trying to stop the bleeding.

Tried, of nothing or something or whatever, dirk grasps her tightly in her arms and swings her over onto the foot of the bed.

"_roxy, come on," _He wants her to stop- to breathe in and realize what he wanted. "stop this,"

"_'stop this, roxy. stoooooppp,' OH SHUT UP!,_" she's angry-so angry. her mind is spinning and she just wants him to fucking see that she was always his to have, and yet he still stands here belonging to someone else. she throws her fists at him, but does no harm-she has nothing to his strength. and she tries to kick, damn does he almost get it where is counts, but again she fails.

"stop being here." her voice is the only weapon she has now, "stop looking at me with those damned eyes," she is out of his grip flailing backwards squirming out of his arms.

_his arms. _his arms. why can't she just ignore the pain and live in the present? why?

"stop." again dirk sunset eyes were cold now-mask registered. her voice is the echo in the room that stabs him from behind, with every. single. letter. "stop pretending that you don't-don't belong to someone else! stop pretending i'm okay, because I AM NOT. STOP, dirk. stop."

she stops, then. and the irony sinks in bleeding through the ripped seems.

seconds are faster than seconds

"I love you,"

the words are out before she can finish breathing. she chokes suddenly. and then sudden determination flames in her eyes, she grasps his shoulders- tightening, strong, and warm, warm, warm- and says it again, "i love you,"

she is looking into his warm fire eyes, trying to put a place behind them. for she wants a rock to feel stable in, a rock to hold onto. His words are what bring her back home, and his arms are what reinforce her to stay.

"I don't belong to somebody else."

and as much as he wants to say those horrible terrible mind churning words- he can't. he is way to afraid to break her, than to love her. and his arms he vows to let her stay, and hours later he shows her he loves her.

and it is enough for her.


End file.
